The Blade and the Wielder
by Butterfly of the Dusk
Summary: She was his shadow; she was his blade. He was the entity; he was the wielder.


**My entry to The-Daughter-of-Rome's competition. I am doing the angst part of it and somewhat mild fluff. Very mild, actually. **

**Disclaimer-I don't own PJO. **

**I'm sorry, the point of view might be a bit confusing. Let's just say, the order is third, Reyna's, and then third again. Sorry if I confused you.**

* * *

><p>The trilling of the birds silenced as he closed the mahogony door with a sigh.<p>

Trudging towards the right of the room, Jason plopped down on his bed conspicuously located next to the window. Not only did beams of sunlight shine through said window, the shouting of the archers and the resonance of arrows did too.

Through the window, an arrow flew across the room, landing dead-center on his photo of Piper.

_Mail's here, _Jason thought, forcing himself off the bed.

Though a somewhat inefficient way of delivering mail, it did help one practice their archery and aim-aim being the wall and not the person occupying the room. Or, at least, he hoped that was the aim of this practice.

Jason ambled towards the arrow, unfurling the paper hurriedly tied onto it.

The paper was torn in places and crumpled in others. Pieces of brittle, tawny paper were hastily taped between each block of text. He looked at the signature. It was not someone whom he recognized.

Although he didn't completely trust the message, Jason still decided to read it. Mail was mail, whether it was friendly or not.

"Dear Jason..."

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

I am the Sword

And You are the Wielder.

You are a Lord

And I am but a Humble Servant

.

.

When we first arrived, I had cowered behind you. Their stares had bored into me, trying to find my deepest secrets; trying to discover my fears and traumas.

But, you had stood up to them.

Even with your peculiar scar, quivering lip, and practically nonexistent height, you had stood up to them-attempting to strike fear into their very existence.

They had scoffed; called you an idiot. I had thought different. You were a brave person.

But, before I knew it...before either of us could say another word...the crowd had dispersed.

And then, after that day, it felt as if we were ostracized by the entire camp itself.

However, you ignored them. Instead, you had looked at me and given me a reassuring smile.

You had ignited a spark of hope in my heartbeat.

Even if no one else seemed to care, you had been there.

So, had I, too, smiled and given you hope? Or, was I-even then-merely a blade for personal gain?

.

.

Without You

I am but a Useless Piece of Steel

By Your Side

I Care Not for Myself, but for You

.

.

They laughed and mocked me; pulled my hair and reveled in the sight of me attempting to retaliate.

But, when you came to my side...when you came to hug me and wipe the tears away...I was able to gather up the courage to glare my opponents down and oppose them.

Humans, you see, are opinionated-we try to believe that everything we do is for the greater good and justice. But, as all things do, everyone's opinion varied.

I had fought for what I thought justice was. But, even now, I still wonder what those people had thought as they ran away in fear-bruises evident on their skin and fractured bones causing their limping gaits.

You had patted me on the back. Though you had told me that I was brave, you had also said that I should never try to do that again.

I, on the other hand, had stared at my hands, trembling in fear of what I had done.

I didn't know it back then but, you were the reason as to why I had summoned enough courage to ward off those bullies.

.

.

Why Was It

That, as You Climbed up the Hill,

I was Not There

To Witness Your Astounding Triumph?

.

.

Although, to you, I was a skilled swordsman, others looked down upon me.

Without you near, I could barely wield a blade without trembling. I would stumble and trip over nonexistent rocks and pebbles; end up throwing a sword and injuring my supposed ally. In short, I was clumsy with the weapon without you to guide me.

So, as others marched out to fight vicious foes and terrifying mosters, I was left behind at camp-unable to say a word against the decision.

No one but you had bade me a farewell. No one but you had even noticed that I was not allowed to march out there-armed to the teeth-to make the gods proud.

It was only you who had noticed.

Even now, I don't know whether to be upset or content with that.

As I sat there, alone, waiting for at least one foe to come here and oppose me, you had paraded back into the camp.

You had smiled and hugged me, ignoring the murmurs and mumbles of the crowd that had quickly gathered before us.

"What was that for?" I had asked.

Your grin had only widened.

"I defeated the Titan Krios!" you had triumphantly boasted.

I wonder, was that the moment that changed our fate? When you became the hero and I, merely your shadow?

.

.

Why did You Leave Me

Your Blade

Out in the Bitter Cold and Rain

Where I Would Only Gather Rust?

.

.

The day you left, the taunts and insults sprung forth once again.

They blamed me for your disappearance; the disappeareance that I had known nothing about until they had spat the details in my face.

Their eyes were wide in shock; pallid faces emphasizing their red cheeks caused from exerting too much effort in trying to annihilate my already shattered self-esteem.

I had tried to prove them wrong...attempted to say that you had never left...that they were just trying to make up another excuse to try to hate me.

But, as I ran to your cabin-a mob of angry campers following me like predators to prey-I saw that there was no sign of your existence.

The room that was regularly cluttered with weapons, clothes, balls, and such had become an immaculate, sanitary haven. I had looked in closets, drawers, and under your bed. But, no matter how hard I had tried, it had been a vain attempt in the end.

Your cabin showed no signs of you ever living in it; it was barren.

The person who had gone from an ostracized child to a zealous hero in one battle-become a hero in the eyes of many in the course of ten minutes-was gone.

The only thing left of you was our memories-which made it all the more painful.

Memories...they can fade away. They can become replaced.

Little by little-one person at a time-you were becoming erased.

It felt like I had become the last one to remember your valiant efforts and heroism.

But then, you had come back.

You come and dissapear as you wish, leaving all your loved ones for another.

Did you ever care? Or was this all a game?

.

.

Was I,

Your Blade

Too Dull

To Care to Sharpen?

.

.

Such a grand entrance you had made that day-returning in a flying ship, a crowd cheering the name that was believed to be forgotten, and someone else standing by your side.

I had been unable to cry, even as that girl kissed you on the cheek. I had been unable to scream all my pain and grief the moment you blushed as her lips part from your skin. I had been unable to leave as said girl glanced my way-an elated sparkle gleaming in her eyes.

You had then given an approving smile to all your 'loyal subjects'.

But, even as your eyes scanned the crowd of Romans, you had never even looked my way. Our eyes had refused to meet, it seemed.

Then, as the crowd finally dissipated, I had walked up to you.

You had stared at me, a blank expression evident on your face.

Because you didn't care to remember...

Because you didn't care to know...

Had there been a wistful expression on my face? Or an expectant one?

I ask because your luminescent eyes had refused to truly look at me. Instead, after taking one glance at me, you had turned back to the girl that had dared to kiss you in public.

The other girl had tugged on your arm, indicating that she wanted to go.

You had only nodded your consent, never bothering to look at me. A victorious smirk crept its way across her face as you two left me.

Neither of you were bothered by your conscience...

Neither of you had cared to look back as you two-hand in hand-walked towards the fading horizon...

Because, if you had even peeked over your shoulders, you would have noticed me. You would have noticed that I-with blurry vision and silent sniffling-had walked back to my cabin.

The next day, I was gone. I had packed my meager belongings and attempted to escape from your shadow.

I wonder, are you ever bothered by your conscience? Do you ever remember the time we had spent together? How we had laughed and shed our pains together? Or, had I-even to the end-been mere swordplay?

.

.

I am the Sword

You are the Wielder

You are the Lord

And I?

I am But Your Shadow

.

.

* * *

><p>"Reyna..."<p>

Jason blinked. "Reyna...Reyna...Reyna..."

The word glided over his tongue, probing him to remember who she was.

He could only frown. Even as he read the letter, the only memories he could gather were hers, not his. It felt ironic-he could not piece together his own memories but now, he could explain in full detail about hers.

"Reyna..." he whispered again.

He heard something creak, indicating that someone had entered his room.

"Jason, what are you still doing here?" Piper looked at him, a worried tone in her voice.

"I...need to go," Jason stated, thinking up a ludicrous idea.

"Not before going to Lupa first, you're not." Piper looked at him, attempting to stare him down.

"No."

"Are you crazy? You barely won her trust back!" She glared at him, her cheeks flushed with aggravation.

"Maybe I am crazy," he merely replied.

Piper left, hoping that Jason would come back to his senses.

Jason stared at his belongings, contemplating which ones to take with him and which ones would stay.

And, just like Reyna, the next day he was gone.

He didn't know if people were worried...

He didn't know if the other Roman campers truly cared...

Because he was off in search of his shadow...

Because people were incomplete without their shadow...

"Reyna, I'll definitely find you."

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><p><strong>Did you like it? I apologize if Reyna is too OOC. I'm just not in the mood to go and stalk forums and blogs. <strong>

**Reviews (and criticism) are appreciated. If you are a flamer, then please leave me alone. **


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